


Pinot Grigio (John)

by OrsFri



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrsFri/pseuds/OrsFri
Summary: "You know," says Gilbert, "when I first met you, I didn't like you. I thought you're too weird. Creepy. A freak.""And now?" asks Ivan."Now," says Gilbert, grinning, "now, I say, fuck it."Ivan is a washed-out star. Gilbert is an aspiring DJ. Voilà.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will write properly and chronologically. One day, I will not write in fragments nor leap from present and past, but today is not the day.
> 
> Cameos everywhere, but not exactly important. Current (and predominantly) RusPru, but there is past RusAme that sank before the ship even sailed.

"You know," says Gilbert, "when I first met you, I didn't like you. I thought you're too weird. Creepy. A freak."

"And now?" asks Ivan.

"Now," says Gilbert, grinning, "now, I say, _fuck it,_ " and Ivan laughs until tears leak at the corner of his eyes.

-

Ivan remembers the lights and the cheers, the exhilaration of a concert well-done and a jam session well-played. And he knows he's weird, his music is controversial, but it makes him so happy, he doesn't care.

(That's a lie. His music is his, and it should be enough, but with all the stress and pressure to live up to expectations, to just do better, to just ignore the taunts and mocking and just _make music_ \- he can't do that. He watches his name gets ripped across tabloids and his music warped and distorted through the screams of fans and clicks of camera shutters and god, all he wants is to be _liked._ )

There's a flash at the corner of his eyes, and Ivan turns to the side to see Alfred, pumping the air and roaring, and the crowd roars back at him. His glasses glint sharply under the spotlight, and someone should really tell Alfred to get contacts, but - but the glasses, right now, looks like a beacon instead, and when he moves the crowd moves with him, loud and fiery, like a commander and his men, a fucking _angel_ leading the people, and fuck, Ivan can't look away.

Then Alfred turns and smirks, and Ivan's heart plunges.

He drops the mike. It makes a loud screech and makes the crowd cheers even louder and the backstage crew groans at the thought of replacing _another_ mike ruined by _another_ inconsiderate celebrity. Ivan squashes that thought, and smiles wider until his cheeks hurt.

-

Gilbert is a self-proclaimed DJ, and too fucking _young_ for him. He's stepping out into the scene just as Ivan's stepping _back._

"Bullshit," Gilbert argues, "you started early, and I started late, even though I was _always_ aware, just so you know."

There are so many holes in his argument that Ivan can point out, so many to prove to Gilbert that no, _idiot that's not how it works,_ and Gilbert is stupid through and true for sticking with Ivan now, of all times. Ivan's nothing now - Ivan's a mess. Ivan's lost everything he ever cared for when he went in and now that he's back out, he can't live up to his old image, and he can't live up to his old fame; the world's move on, and there's no place left for Ivan and his music.

But Ivan's always been selfish. He doesn't want Gilbert to leave. So he shuts his mouth, and smiles instead.

-

Ivan goes to Gilbert's bar that night. It's really called _the Blue Rose,_ but after the previous owner died (an accident, they say, and refuses to meet Ivan's eyes), it's just not right to call it that anymore. So Ivan calls it Gilbert's bar, because he won't otherwise ever return there anyway. It's only sudden sentimentality and impulse that brings him walking over the night after his release, and it's a stroke of luck that Gilbert is up then, and decides to use a track from one of his first EP.

Ivan remembers a time when clubbing is his thing. Somehow, everything seems to lose its appeal, the same way writing is not fun anymore because it is too bitter to bear. He squeezes past the crowd, and makes his way to the bar.

"Evening, Vanya," greets Irina, and deftly pushes a dubiously blue-green gradient drink over. "I mixed it the moment I saw you walk in. Try it; you'll like it."

Ivan's always like the bartender sisters. It may be because of their nationality, or the fact that Irina smiles like she has the force of a thousand suns embedded in it, or that Natalya wears cold steel in her eyes the way Ivan has not seen in a long time, but he finds himself drawn to them. He takes a cautious sip of the cocktail, and it burns sweet and strong down his throat, and fuck, Ivan _needs_ it.

"It's good," he says, and Irina beams.

"Told you you'll like it," she says, and wanders off to serve her other customers.

Ivan nurses his drink slowly, and watches Gilbert play at his side of the room. Then Gilbert looks up, and their gazes meet; a stall, and the music seems to fade. Ivan smiles. Gilbert smiles back. The music picks up again. Ivan hunches forward, and takes a longer swig, cocktail or no.

When Gilbert steps out of the bar a few hours later, Ivan is already there waiting for him, breath puffing white mist in the air.

"You're great tonight," Ivan says, but Gilbert only laughs.

"You say that every night," Gilbert reminds, "does that mean I'm great every night?"

Ivan nods solemnly. "Yes." Gilbert can't hold back his snort. "I mean it."

"You know, if you play up this earnest cute boy image instead of the, oh, edgy _confidently-freaky_ image a few years back, you'll be a hell lot more popular," Gilbert teases, and Ivan ignores the sharp twinge in his chest.

"Yeah, but I won't be as memorable," Ivan counters. The words sound hollow even to his own ears, but Gilbert doesn't notice, somehow.

"Nuh-uh, electronica is all the in now, babe." Gilbert pats Ivan on the shoulder, still grinning. "Although I can't imagine that ever being your thing."

It isn't. Ivan is always more of an old soul, with his mother's jazz and his father's rock always lying as an undercurrent to all his music. No one notices, though, except maybe Gilbert's subconscious - which again, may be a product of professional experience and exposure.

"Maybe you can convince me otherwise," he replies.

Gilbert elbows him. "Oh, you're so _on._ "

-

The beginning _and_ the end starts with Alfred, he thinks. A stupid crush, a strange competition between the two leading vocals of their band - which is, in the first place, only held together through pure will - and somehow, Alfred encourages Ivan's infatuation by not _discouraging_ it. Ivan falls, and he falls _hard,_ and the tabloids joke and Ivan pushes harder, but no one actually believes it is real until it becomes  _too_ real.

Alfred watches him with flat apathy and Ivan falls, and he falls too hard.

-

Gilbert tries his best to catch up with all the latest gossip in the music industry, and Ivan steals Gilbert's laptop to read these articles, sometimes. Alfred's face pops out more often than not - he is shifting to the _film_ industry, will this golden boy ever lose his shine - and Ivan tries his best to ignore it. His band has broken up shortly after his... his expulsion. It has been ugly.

None of them left the industry though. Matthew switches to song-writing completely, and publishes albums by inviting friends and acquaintances to sing for him. Francis becomes a _talk show host,_ and gets his shit together enough to ask out Arthur from _The Lions_ , and now they are the star gay couple in the industry, because their fights are _legendary_ but their dynamics are smoother than a hair commercial.

He spends the next few minutes trying to catch up with the lives of all the people he once knew, before it gets too difficult to bear and Ivan has to close the tabs. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his palms against his eyes, before pulling himself together, and leaves the laptop on standby to search for Gilbert.

"Where are- oh." Ivan drops his hand from the door arch. Gilbert shrugs sheepishly, but does not stop the cassette player.

It's turned down to the lowest volume, but Ivan can still hear his own voice wafting through the air, raw and alone, with only the slightest strumming of his bass to bridge over the quieter parts.

Ivan takes quick steps forward until he is right infront of the player. Gilbert angles himself slightly away to make space. "That's... that's not really your previous style," Gilbert comments quietly.

Ivan pauses the recording. The tape pops out. He doesn't take it out. He does, however, wonders why he feels sentimental enough recently to dig out his old player to tape his newest tracks on a _fucking cassette._

(He knows: started from the bottom, fell back down, and it's time to return to where it all begins if he truly wants to start over.)

"Do you like it?" Ivan asks. "I'm considering trying out a new music direction."

"It's..." Gilbert hesitates. Ivan braces himself. "It's different, but yeah. I like it." Gilbert nods unconsciously. "I like it a lot. Do you have any more tracks you're working on?"

There's a sudden weight that lifts from his chest that Ivan hasn't even noticed till then. "Yeah, but they're all on these cassettes."

Gilbert shakes his head in bewilderment. "Where do you even get them?"

"The cassettes?" Ivan shrugs. "Leftovers from my angsty teenage years," he says, and Gilbert laughs.

-

With Gilbert's urging, Ivan uploads one of his demos online. He doesn't think anyone will look at it, but the next time he checks, the song has exploded over the Internet.

Ivan's agent immediately calls him. "I thought you're out?" is Karolina's first words to him, and considering how hard she has worked for the band (and dealt with his issues and the resulting fallout, and also helping him assimilate after his release for the first few weeks, and keeping things together during all the interim period so that Ivan's life won't fall apart into tatters the moment he goes in - and so many other things that Ivan can never hope to repay in gratitude in this lifetime), Ivan isn't even offended.

"Guess I can't keep away," he replies. Karolina huffs good-naturedly, but her fatigue shows through her voice. "I'm not going to make you take me up again. I know it's been hard and I've been... more trouble than it's worth."

"That you are." Karolina sighs. The phone is quiet for a long eight seconds, before Karolina speaks again. "I'll bring your forms over soon. You're still living with that DJ Frei?"

"Yeah," says Ivan, "yeah. Thanks, Lina."

"What am I to do with you, hmm?" Karolina hangs up. Ivan stares at his phone until the screen goes black, and then stares at his reflection on the screen.

No more layers. No more outfits and make-ups and weird stunts and habits, no more weird veneer to pull over to form a stage identity for himself. This return will lay him bare to the public now.

"I'm starting over," Ivan tells his reflection, and puts his phone away.

That night, Gilbert uploads a mix with Ivan's demo, and pushes the track's popularity even further.

-

"You're out?" Gilbert has asked, that first night at _the Blue Rose,_ as it was called then, before Ivan re-terms it in his mind. "You're very different from what I expected."

Ivan stares at their reflection on a car window. The man staring back does not look like anything he remembers, even from before his fame. "Yeah, I know."

Gilbert is twenty-five then, and Ivan is thirty-two, a whopping seven years older and much more pathetic, with whatever is left of a life spiralled out of control. While Gilbert - Gilbert is _shining,_ eyes bright grin wide and with future and potential spilling from his fucking _pores._

Ivan has never felt this inadequate.

"Hey," says Gilbert, snapping back Ivan's attention, "you know, I never really appreciated you when I was younger."

"Oh?"

"Thought you were weird," says Gilbert, "but then I grew up, and my perspective changed. You revolutionised the entire fucking music industry. That's awesome."

_Oh._ No one has ever looked at it that way before. "Thank you."

Gilbert grins. "I would talk to you more, but it's almost dawn, and I'm going to crash at any moment." He fishes into his pockets for his phone. "Want to grab lunch some other day?"

Ivan does not have a policy of giving out his number to people he just met, but somehow he thinks of Alfred - or his image of Alfred, at least, the one with the brilliant smile and the steel blue in his eyes that always seems to freeze their targets - and Gilbert is _so much_ like Alfred and yet not, that Ivan _wants_ to just throw himself out and under and see what may happen.

"Yeah, sure," he says, and types his number for Gilbert.

-

And that, when Ivan looks back, is when his second chance begins.

-

It is a cliché, but they say life is a circle, and with an end comes another beginning and a new cycle. Ivan stares at the tape whirring and spinning in the cassette player, and hopes.

Then Gilbert starts humming along to the track, and their voices, one recorded and one muffled, mingles in the air in a strange sort of duet, and Ivan thinks this is the moment he _believes_ that hope will be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Irina is Ukraine, and Karolina is nyo!Lithuania. Anyone who gets all the songs/bands/musicians listed in this fic, you and I have similar music tastes, please rec me some songs. Also sorry for the absence, I pretty much threw everything aside to get my responsibilities in order, and then threw them all aside tonight to get this fic out in a valiant attempt to avoid burn-out.


End file.
